


(he wants you to walk into him) as into a dark fire

by ultraviolence



Series: burned / about to burn / still on fire [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, Daddy Issues, F/M, Fade to Black, More plot than porn, Smoking, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 13:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9659690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: "She liked the thought of him as something ungraspable." // That one time Jyn got into trouble and enlisted Krennic to bail her. Modern AU. Direct sequel tobut i do not kill stars.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I really, truly, honestly, blame all of you people who demanded a sequel. This is for you. I hope you're all happy with yourself. Title from [here](http://officialvoid.co.vu/post/157015270169/he-wants-you-to-walk-into-him-as-into-a-dark-fire). Enjoy.

Jyn _needs_.

She doesn’t remember exactly when it started, when the sickness—as she sometimes called it, privately—invaded her, but she was just a smudge of a girl when she broke her first rule, dark-haired and feral. She didn’t show up for her curfew, instead running around on the outskirts of her neighbourhood, on her own, forgetting about time.

Her mother was the one who found her, alerted by a neighbour who saw (tiny, wild-eyed, impossible) Jyn darting nimbly around corners, a thief prowling her own territory.

She remembered that she doesn’t feel particularly concerned that the curfew had been broken, although she felt a pang of guilt when her father looked at her with sad eyes (eyes that mirrored her own) that night, shaking his head and hugged her a little too tight, like she’s going to disappear if he didn’t held on fast enough. _I’m not going anywhere, Papa_ , Jyn remembered telling him. 

She never really got a serious lecture on why this is a severe crime, this need to break invisible barriers, since it runs in the family. And perhaps, she often reflected on bitterly, during one of those nights, it’s also because she was their only child.

She was about to disappoint her father again, Jyn thought to herself, sitting in the deserted faculty hallway, one leg propped up on the empty seat beside her. She was itching for a smoke, but she knew better than to tempt fate this time. Instead, she busted out her phone from her backpack, sent two texts swiftly—one to her father, the other to Cassian. The latter often had the same effects as a good smoke.

Her eyes flicked from the door sitting not too far from her at the end of the hallway, and the marked door beside her. Jyn doesn’t bother reading the plaque.

If she were any other sort of person—say, someone who cares more about _time_ —she might spare a glance at the digital clock on her mobile, but as it stands, time is, to Jyn Erso, more often than not an _inconvenience_. Someone else’s rule. Yet something else that doesn’t apply to her.

She started drumming her fingers and humming her favourite song as time passed.

More time passed, and she resorted to getting her leg down, and tapping her feet. She wasn’t exactly doing it discreetly, but she was quite certain the office owner would come out any moment now and tell her to shut it. He was the reason why she’s here, after all.

The door at the end of hallway opens, and Jyn stopped tapping her feet. She stared, alert, at the man who stepped through the threshold, wanting to break into a grin but held it in. She looked at him stoically instead as he marches on to her, the key to her freedom.

Jyn hoped, although perhaps with a touch of irony.

“You really are a difficult one, aren’t you?”

Orson Krennic was her father’s longtime friend, the bane of Jyn’s mother’s existence (very possibly), and, at the moment, her _possible_ saviour. She angles herself to take a better look at him, wearing a pokerface. It was a weekday, yes, but the waning of one, yet he was in uniform, sharp and pristine. She looked up at his face, the way his startlingly blue eyes observed her—not the face of a parent.

But just what she needed. Jyn gave him a tight smile. 

“Tell me something new,” She told him, not declaring her stakes just yet. She couldn’t see all the possible snaking paths of her plan, but she could grasp a handle out of it, possibly a railing. 

There is this particular game that they’ve been playing ever since they’ve forged a bond about two years ago, back when Jyn was still a freshman in college. It was originally her parents’ idea, the driving lesson, a punishment for her for nearly totalling the car her father had just given her. It turns out to be something else, something quite interesting.

She wouldn’t say that they’re friends—there are too many years between them, like a wide river, a yawning gap, and also the baggage of him being her father’s friend—but there was a strange kinship forming, some mutual acknowledgement and tacit understanding that they are, partly at least, formed by the same element. Driven by the same things.

She wondered, sometimes, if they _need_ similarly.

“What did you do this time around?” There came the question, the raised eyebrow, the probing look. She didn’t miss the last part of it: _this time around_. Just like how he’s been telling her about her father, her father had been telling him about her. She was supposed to feel mad, but she can’t find it in her to care. In fact, she felt—strangely—rather thrilled. So he knew about her and her ugly need.

Jyn shrugged. “The Dean’ll tell you.”

Krennic frowned, seemed to think about something. Jyn waited patiently for him to make his move. 

“What’s stopping me from just calling Galen and put an end to this little charade of yours?”

She expected nothing less from him. That’s an important lesson: never pick up a knife if you’re not ready to be cut. She drummed her fingers, letting him wait for a bit. Letting him stew for a bit.

“That’s something you can do,” She admitted, making it sound grudging, dragging it for a bit. “But you don’t want to add to his stress. He’s doing this huge research lately and he’s been under a lot of stress. I’ve been buying him more coffee mugs this week alone than I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

Her father had the really unfortunate habit of accidentally breaking his mugs whenever he’s really stressed out. Jyn cringed at the memory of the last one he’d broken.

“Your mother?” Krennic sounds genuinely grudging, and with good reason. If the world was for some reason on fire and he had to call Lyra to save himself, he’d probably rather die, Jyn theorised. Or he would probably just call his minions and all the influential people he had on his contact list to put out the fire, another part of her mused. That sounds more likely.

“She’s on one of her expeditions,” She tried to make it sound nonchalant, tried not to let any emotion slip into her tone of voice.

He looked like he wanted to swear so badly, and Jyn had to suppress her laugh. She fixed her gaze on him, tried to gauge how he’s really feeling (other than surface annoyance, or infuriation, which is pretty much the status quo with Krennic). She couldn’t land her finger on anything.

“If you’re not going to tell me what this is all about—“

He won’t ever _ask_ , she thought. He won’t ever ask her what he’s supposed to do. Talk about stubborn _pride_.

“Just go in—“ She cuts him off before he could finish, gesturing at the door beside her, “—be my _guardian_ , tell him my father can’t make it. Maybe get him to lighten my punishment,” Jyn added, with the sweetest smile she could manage. He frowned. She adapted. “Please.”

Their eyes meet, and she felt a slight jolt, felt more alert than she’d ever been. Something passes between them, unseen and unspoken.

“I’m not delighting this prospect of talking to _your_ Dean as _your_ guardian, but I don’t see any other way.” Krennic conceded, his expression guarded. Jyn wondered.

“I owe you,” She simply told him in return, managing her saccharine smile again, as he knocked on the door beside her.

The image and concept of him as her guardian is an intriguing one, and Jyn leaned back on her seat and thought about it, after he disappeared into the Dean’s office (“ _Her father can’t make it_ ,” she heard, not very faintly). She thought she also rather fancied this image, this arrangement, and she smiled to herself, pleased.

After all, her plan was working.

* * *

In all fairness, it wasn’t a long meeting—she’d waited for an hour or so before while her parents was inside similar offices, in a different academic setting, when Jyn was younger—but time seemed to coagulate when she was waiting outside in the corridor. Time seemed to move slow as molasses, a burdened predator on the verge of falling asleep. She lost track of what she was actually doing while waiting, but she remembered texting Cassian back-and-forth. He was somehow very keen on finding out what is unfolding. Jyn told him that she’ll tell him once she was sure she was not in hot water anymore.

In truth, her faith wavered—now believed, now slightly anxious—like a pendulum during the wait, but Jyn kept herself steady. She reminded herself that she’d been through worse, if not largely similar situations before. She found that her gaze stray to the door more often than she likes, though, and her thoughts straying in his direction.

It was all a bit funny, if not strange. She can’t quite explain why.

She was absent-mindedly thinking about her father and whether or not he’d remembered to eat, and if she should buy him takeout of some sort after this, when the door—at this point magical, otherworldly, _threatening_ —opened, and out came Krennic, looking a little bit hassled but otherwise unmolested. Jyn immediately stood up straight, all thoughts of her dad and his forgetfulness vanishing into thin air. He closed the door behind him, and she stared at him expectantly, waiting for tidings from the warzone.

“Aggravated assault,” He started, like he was reciting a list he’d just memorised. “Resisting arrest by the campus police. Breaking someone’s car window—” He paused, Jyn hazarded for dramatic effect, he does had a penchant for theatrics after all, “—what were _you_ thinking?”

She wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, admittedly. She was only thinking in fragments, in snippets and images, _like that guy almost broke Cassian’s arm_ and _he beat Bodhi up_ and _he almost harassed someone else I know_. She’s sometimes not sure how her brain churns out conclusions, not really grasping her own way of thinking, only that she felt perhaps anger. Perhaps a thrill. Perhaps her need to smash invisible things. She’s not sure. Jyn shrugged, to a now obviously exasperated Krennic. He almost looked _parental_ , she thought, that’s terrifying. In itself it was a very terrifying thought, and she didn’t dwell on it for too long (Jyn never dwells on anything for too long), instead opted to cobble up something to avoid the hurricane coming her way. Her father was never mad at her, not really, it was the domain of her mother—reluctantly, very reluctantly—and even then, it was of a very different sort than what she hazarded he was capable of unleashing.

“He almost knocked me out, to be fair,” She said, wincing from the memory of the fight, still actually aching from the bruises she suffered. Jyn Erso wasn’t one to back down from a fight, especially not the ones she _started_. 

There was perhaps a brief flash of sympathy in his eyes, perhaps understanding, maybe something else—Jyn wasn’t quite sure, it disappeared too quickly. He still looked exasperated, and she prepared herself mentally for whatever comes next, since she realised that she’d barely defended herself. Then again, she felt quite resigned about it. Perhaps she deserved this. Perhaps Krennic was mad on behalf of her own father, who was quite incapable of anger, although she’s now grasping at straws. 

“He wants to expel you,” Krennic continued, clasping his hands together. “For all of that, and for breaking the student conduct.”

Jyn wasn’t really surprised. Contrary to popular belief, she was aware of the consequences most of the time. She just opted to ignore it.

“That seems like the reasonable thing to do,” She remarked, tone still uncaring. Her mind raced, picturing her father’s reaction _if_ she was expelled. _If_ he knows that she’d lied to him about coming home late, and that she’d brought his friend into this. 

If her father had never been mad before, he surely would, now.

“I managed to convince him not to,” Krennic said, to her surprise, after a fair amount of silence. Jyn opened her mouth, about to ask _how_ , curiosity compromising her composure, but he cuts her off. “I’d rather not talk about it _here_. He agreed to let you off with a slap to the wrist and some hours of community service, something like that.”

Admittedly, it could have been so much _worse_. Jyn gaped, not really sure what to say or how.

“Come along now,” Krennic remarked, beckoning at her. “You have to be home before dinner, haven’t you?”

She was quite sure she didn’t tell him about her texting her father about that. She breaks out into a laugh, half of her not believing what just happened, the other half felt extremely _relieved_. 

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Jyn asked him, gesturing vaguely at his attire. She’d only seen him in uniform once before, and it wasn’t something she’s liable to forget. 

“I _do_ , that’s why I’m getting you out of my hair.” With anyone else, it’d have been borderline rude, but she’s rather familiar to his sometimes—well, _often_ , with her—direct manner at this point. She grinned at him instead.

“Since you’re probably already late anyway, _really_ late—“ Jyn felt a strange thrill at this, “—why don’t you hang around for a bit?”

 _Break this rule with me_. She can’t quite believe what she’s implying. 

He looked like he was about to flat-out refuse, perhaps about to straight-out tell her that he’s not a dumb college student anymore with too much free time on his hands, but something crossed his mind—she can tell that the gears on his mind were turning—and instead, he told her:

“I’ll be doomed, and you’re crazy, Jyn, but I suppose a _little_ won’t hurt.”

Perhaps there was a ghost of a smile. No matter. Jyn quirked her own, hoisting herself and her backpack up. “Good. You won’t be sorry.”

She thought, now, that Krennic really was quite a responsible guardian. And she still liked the thought of him as a spy, liked the thought of him as something ungraspable.

Jyn Erso liked a challenge.

* * *

Later, they were in her car—a historical monument that marks the beginning of this strange bond, dented and rough now two years down the road—sitting around and smoking. It doesn’t really register just how tired he looks until it was only the two of them, no longer confined in that strange academic hallway. It doesn’t really click until they were perhaps five minutes in with comfortable if not slightly awkward silence and he asked her if she had any cigarettes. Jyn remembered laughing, not really believing that _her father’s friend_ , out of all the people in the world, would ask her for a smoke. She pulled out her pack, handed one to Krennic, and fully intended to lit it for him, but in one graceful move, he did it with his own lighter, magicked from a hidden pocket, and reached out to crank open the window.

Jyn felt the slightest pang of disappointment.

There was silence because there wasn’t really anything to talk about (and neither of them was good at small talk), the years separating them gaping like a cliff Jyn had glimpsed in Jedha from a pilgrimage trip her mother took her from when she was just a little girl. 

Perhaps she was supposed to say _thank you_ , since he really did save her skin back there, or press for more details about his talk with the Dean, but she felt like there are perhaps more important things to talk about.

“Long day at work?” She started, braving the cliff face. She wasn’t expecting any substantial response from him, but anything would be a start. If there’s anyone who could conquer the metaphorical cliff between them, it would be Jyn Erso. 

“Stressful,” Krennic responded, with the slightest touch of sarcasm, sparing her the briefest of glance. She rather liked this image of him, sitting beside her with a cigarette perched on his fingers, smoke flying away through the slightly open window towards the late afternoon, almost-empty campus parking lot vista. She filed it away, adding it to her mental catalogue of _images she liked_. “Boss gave me shit over a lot of things. I hate him.”

That’s more than she could hope for, and she leaned slightly forward, affecting interest, inhaling the mixed scent of the mess that is her car, mingled with cigarette smoke, her own scent, and the strange man sitting beside her, who smelled sharp and crisp—reminds her of sterile, official places, empty office buildings in the after hours, and a windless, clear winter day. 

Strange—she had technically known him since she was perhaps only seven years old, but they had never sat so close together before.

“That sounds familiar,” Jyn remarked, observing the pattern of his uniform, his rank insignia, his utility belt (the gun holster empty and gaping). It was a lot of information be processed all at once. “Does he own a car?”

“If you’re suggesting vandalism, I’m ending this conversation right now.”

“If it solves the problem,” She countered, shrugging. 

Abruptly, he turned his head slightly, fixing his gaze on her. There was genuine curiosity in his eyes. “What’s up with you and rebelling? Between you and me, I’ve never thought Galen and Lyra would produce an anarchist.”

“Someone has to stick it to the man,” She told him, with a dramatic flourish. He cracked a smile.

“I don’t know who you got it from, or if you really believe in those stuff.” His tone was light and casual, or at least trying to be, but there was perhaps a touch of judgement in it. Jyn suddenly felt combative.

“I thought you were once like me,” She blurted out, defensively, immediately regretting it as soon as it left her mouth. It sounded ridiculous and juvenile. It sounded like the _truth_.

Jyn doesn’t make the truth a habit. It was an uncomfortable place to live in, and it has the unfortunate side effect of letting other people think that you are vulnerable. Jyn certainly doesn’t want people to think that she’s vulnerable. Maybe it’s because of a thought that entered her once and never left— _I don’t want to be like my father_ —or maybe it’s because she simply aren’t comfortable with her own vulnerability. She doesn’t know where she got _that_ from. Perhaps herself.

There was silence in which she steeled herself to whatever response Krennic will dish out, silence in which she glimpsed a brief shocked expression on his face. Silence in which Jyn briefly rewinded, in her head, what she’d just said, the implications of it. 

“Where did you get that idea?” He asked, a little too sharp to be casual, a broken glass flung her way. He was looking at her now, intensely. Jyn didn’t flinch.

“Here and there,” She told him, being vague on purpose, giving him her typical shrug. His gaze turned _investigative_. She’d seen that sort of look a thousand times before in Cassian. 

The gears in his mind must have been turning once more. She knows that he’s sharp enough to deduce that Galen must have been feeding her scraps here and there, and that she must have asked some questions herself. Jyn could almost see all those imaginary pulleys and levers working, and finally something must have clicked, because his expression changed. He looked away.

“It’s not the same,” He said, after a long drag. She said nothing. “I wasn’t doing it to break the rules.”

“Just to protect my father, then?” Jyn had no idea if he was talking about anything specific, but she pressed on. She was met by silence.

“Maybe,” He allowed, only enough to end the chafing silence. Not enough to answer her question. Certainly not enough to satisfy her curiosity.

“Did you get into fights often?” She continued, curiosity getting the best of her. From what she’d managed to fish out from her father (and the snippets that he told her), it was a rather common occurrence, but hearing it from her father isn’t the same as hearing it from Krennic’s own mouth.

He glanced at her, and she immediately tried to pinpoint signs of annoyance or infuriation, but unexpectedly, he gave her a ghost of a smile, as if letting her in on a secret. “Well, _somebody_ has to, since he kept getting himself into trouble.” 

“He _still_ got himself into trouble,” Jyn muttered, a smile of her own playing on her lips. It was one topic they could always agree in: somebody has to look after her father. Galen was a safe topic, but this time she wanted more. She _expected_ more. She wasn’t quite sure what or why.

“That’s what Lyra is for, now,” Krennic spat her mother’s name like a curse, like bad luck in spades. If her father was a safe bet, her mother was the reverse—it was something Jyn decidedly avoid mentioning, for obvious reasons—and she instinctively cringed at the way he said her name. She was still her mother’s daughter, and she felt a sudden surge of defensiveness. She waved it away, tried to rein it in.

There are so many unspoken things, she thought, a cabinet full of secrets that she wasn’t privy to. Despite the stories, despite the snippets of memories—Jyn at nine, listening to her mother in hushed yet furious conversation with him, Jyn at twelve, accidentally eavesdropping on a conversation between her parents, where Krennic’s name was brought up—there are still so many things about her parents and him that she didn’t know about, and she was certain that she would never know. 

She was an outsider, watching a movie that had already begun long before she was born.

Jyn changed the topic. The sky outside already changed colour, the sun’s blood staining the sky red.

“You know,” She started, leaning back on her seat, turning her body slightly so she’s facing him, “Cassian’s jealous.”

He laughed, briefly, a knifelike sound, cutting through the air. An airstrike. She waited. “If you’re just going to give me details about the latest boy drama in your life, I’d better get back to work.”

At some point, he’d gotten into his second cigarette, and that almost reached its end, too. The light stains everything red, dried blood on his ivory uniform.

“He’s jealous of _us_ ,” Again, Jyn affected her standard issue shrug, as if she wasn’t dropping a bomb. As if she wasn’t fishing for reaction, for his attention.

He cocked his head, assessing her, processing her words. “I don’t think that’s even a valid issue.”

 _There’s nothing between us. I’ve only stuck around because you’re my good friend’s daughter_. He didn’t say it. Jyn smiled, lightly, letting something vicious touch the edges of her smile. She imagined kissing him. She imagined kissing him in the dying light, everything red and untamed and exploding.

“It is now,” She declared, and did what her mental self had already done a moment ago—she leaned forward, in one perhaps rather sloppy motion (she didn’t care) kissed him, her arms curled around the collar of his uniform, pulling him closer to her.

She definitely took him by surprise, but she was undoubtedly disappointed that he didn’t kiss her back, although he tasted just like what she’d imagined him to be. He was dark fire, and she’s burning. 

“I should have expected that,” Krennic said, a touch too soft for a man like him. Jyn still clings to his collar, not really feeling like letting go just yet—she’s always bad at letting go—and she gave him a questioning look, although she let her satisfaction slip in the slightest hint of a smile. “You’re a little rebel.”

She raised an eyebrow. “ _Your_ little rebel?”

“Close enough, yeah.” He laughed, a genuine sound this time, and Jyn liked that, too. Jyn liked his laugh, the way his face opens up when he did, and Jyn liked him. It was her turn to be surprised when he kissed her, hungry and terrible.

He _needs_ , just like her. She slid her tongue into his mouth, pushing him back, climbing into his lap. Her dark fascination had been given a form, a name, and she let it took over her. She wanted to grasp him. She wanted to _make sense_ of him.

“I have to return you before dinner,” He gasped, in-between the desperate, hungry kissing, and she snorts.

“That can be arranged,” Jyn told him, snatching whatever remained of his cigarette and threw it out the window, her other hand already on a quest of finding buttons. 

“Only if you _behave_ ,” Krennic snarled, catching her hand by the wrist, pulling her in, his lips finding her neck. It was Jyn’s turn to gasp.

“I’ve always had a problem with that,” She challenged right back, quickly regaining her composure, her free hand aiming for his thigh—and finding it. His lips grazed her neck, the faintest touch of _fire_ , and she let out a moan. She reached between his legs, only to have him catch that wrist too. 

“I’ll make you,” He told her, his smirk obvious, and Jyn felt the _thrill_ returned. The same thrill she felt whenever she was caught breaking the rules. “Play by the rules for once, Jyn.”

Then his lips was all over her, and everything else ceased to exist.

* * *

She’s not late for dinner. 

The sky has darkened, and the sun had disappeared over the horizon at some point. Jyn didn’t notice, and she didn’t particularly care. Her mind had only started racing—worrying about what her father might say and what she’s going to tell him—when she pulled over the driveway. An instant later, she immediately noticed that no one bothered to turn on the porch lights, and her house looked abandoned in the dim aftermath of the twilight.

Her house looked lonely. She suppressed a sigh. It looks like her father wouldn’t notice after all. 

“Are you going to stick around for dinner, or what?” She asked the man beside her, the man she’d just devoured and walked into. After what had happened, they were both equally messy in terms of clothing—her shirt slightly askew, his tunic a little crumpled around the edge—although not _equally_ , at least mentally, because he doesn’t look like he just walked through a storm, and survived.

Jyn had just walked through a storm, and survived to tell the tale.

“I guess I have to, since it looks like you need some help,” He gestured at the dark house, and she knows what he means. 

“What about work?”

“What about _it_?” Krennic deftly countered, mirroring her tone. She rather liked the carelessness of it, the brashness, and the grin accompanying it was a novel thing. She savoured it. “I’ll make up some excuse. You’re rubbing off on me.”

“I sure hope _you_ won’t rub off on me,” 

“Like you rubbing off on me is a good thing,” He parried, and she laughs. “It’s a bad thing, that’s what it is.”

“My dad would agree,” She told him, reclining on her seat lazily. She doesn’t really feel like ending this moment just yet. Her father can wait, she thought.

Her house sat there, still and empty, a single light burning on the second floor. The sky is a dark smudge, the colour of a young abyss. Jyn felt lazy, content—strangely satisfied, for once. The silence that falls between them was comfortable, for once not haunted by subdued curiosity, or desire. The gaping years between them was silent, for once. 

“Let’s go,” Orson Krennic said, at last, breaking the spell, and she went with him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> What started out as a character study/parallels fic ended up in...........this. I regret nothing. Only that I didn't make this smuttier. Thanks for reading, comments & suggestions welcome! (also [hmu](http://officialvoid.co.vu) at Tumblr)


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